Calypso
by S. Giovanni
Summary: This is the story of an orphan Torchic, a legendary Psyduck, an idiotic Treecko, an insane Tyranitar, and a sociopathic Fearow.  Part 1 of the Under the Gun Trilogy.  Read & review.
1. Joseph's Son

**Calypso**

_Disclaimer: I only own the specific characters, and not even all of them. Most place names, all species, and certain characters are owned by Nintendo, and the songs are owned by their respective owners._

The area was silent. Everywhere in sight from the top of the volcano was shrouded in an eerie silence, all save one. Small cracking sounds and rustles, though nothing particularly interesting. The professor took a last scan of the screens, checked the seismic gauge, and yawned. Time to go home. As he walked to the door, a rumble shook his feet. He turned. The seismic counter was vibrating madly. Eyes wide, the professor rushed outside and looked down the volcano. Something was brewing.

"So, Joe, have you thought of a name?"  
"Dylan."  
"Dylan Robertson? Nice name. But remember, I name her if it's a girl."  
"Yeah, I remember. You're quite redundant there."  
"Shut up."  
"What can I say Mary? You keep saying her name's gonna be Vera."  
"Exactly."  
"But what if it's a boy? You've yet to allow me to get a word for that."  
"Well what about just now?"  
"...Touché."  
The Ninetales bared her teeth in what seemed to be a smile. The Arcanine on the other side of the egg rolled his eyes.  
"Just because you won that means nothing. That's the first."  
Her mouth lowered into a frown.  
"Eh, well, just as soon as it hatches I'll be able to laugh at you when it's a chick."  
Suddenly, with a rumble in the ground, a head came out of the egg. A chick's head.  
"Well, you're not laughing," the Arcanine said jokingly.  
"What in the name of Mount Hephestus is this, some kind of cruel joke played on us by Vulcan?"  
The Arcanine sighed.  
"You asked for a chick, did you not?"  
Suddenly, the Ninetales understood her partner's joke.  
"Oh, ha ha. A chick. Well, what're we gonna call the thing?"  
"I don't know! It's a chicken! It has no genetic data from either of us, I can't tell if it's a guy or a girl!"  
"Tor!"  
"I say we smell it to know."  
"Tor!"  
The chick rolled backwards on the egg. The Arcanine looked at his partner.  
"Smell."  
"I'm not smelling it, you smell it."  
The Arcanine sighed and sniffed.  
**"By Vulcan, Dylan's a stinker!"**  
"What?"  
"The chicken's a boy. I win."  
The Ninetales sighed.  
"Fine."  
"But first things first, we're going to need to check with the Priest on this matter."  
"The Priest? And his Godfather?"  
The Arcanine sat on his haunches and howled. Shortly after, another howl came from the east side, followed by one from the north, and finally the west, of the volcano. Almost immediately from the northwest came a Mightyena.  
"Hey, Joey. We're ready for the baptism?"  
"Well, yes and no. I want you to look at the egg and tell me what you see."  
The Mightyena looked at the egg.  
"I see a Torchic's head sticking out of an egg. Why?"  
"Sirius? Meet Dylan."  
The Mightyena looked at the egg.  
**"This is your son?"**  
"Exactly. I need you to come with me to take him to the Priest."  
Sirius sighed.  
"Well, alright. I'm scared this might be a curse, though. A beautiful baby, but far from the species. There's never been a Blaziken in either of your bloodlines."  
"Exactly why we're so terrified," Mary said, "Which is why you'll be taking him to the Priest."  
"And what about you?" asked Joe.  
"I'm going to pray." And with that, Mary trotted to the east.  
Sirius looked at Joe. "Well, we'd better get moving. The Priest needs to see this."  
Joe looked down, then crushed the egg and picked up the Torchic. The two friends ran for the volcano as fast as they could.

The ancient Houndoom looked down at the Torchic the two brought before him  
"Hm. This is most interesting."  
"Well? Is my son okay?" Joe's voice couldn't help but sound frightful, despite his composure.  
"This is most interesting," the Houndoom repeated. "The ancients read this would happen. Vulcan is soon to fall."  
Joe gasped. "My son is going to kill Lord Vulcan!?"  
"No, most certainly not. The entire prophecy is cryptic, but there is no hint that Vulcan would die." The Houndoom sighed. "However..."  
Sirius stepped forward. **"However what? This may be dangerous!"**  
"Not dangerous, but certainly extraordinary." The Houndoom leaned down and placed a paw on the child's head. "However, I'm not entirely sure he's what the prophecy reads." He pressed down, and the Torchic sat down obediantly. The Houndoom circled to look at the baby's foot.  
"Well?" Joe's concern was etched on his face. The Houndoom sat down on his haunches and howled lowly. Joe suddenly felt a sense of terror, and he could tell that his friend Sirius was just as scared. The Houndoom laid down in front of the baby and began to speak in a language the pair had no understanding of.  
_"Ir Narciom Dylan ir Narciom Dylan, ir bernos ur Narci."  
_The Houndoom stood and circled to behind the baby.  
"Take good care of him. Your child is more than you could ever compre--."  
An Infernape walked up, wearing a green tunic with a bright red stripe across the chest.  
"Joseph David Robertson, by order of General Brockhall, you are drafted into the Army of Vulcanis. Sirius Black Johnson, you are also drafted into the Army."  
The Houndoom bared his teeth at the Infernape, growling. "Leave my church, bearer of ill fate. Today should be a happy day for the Robertsons and Johnsons. Your presence here will bring nothing but sorrow."  
The Infernape screeched. **"And does not sorrow already exist? I too am a priest, and I too wish I could bring good news!"**  
The Houndoom looked down. "I'm sorry, Brother. I forget myself. You are right." He approached the Infernape and whispered something in the simian's ear. The ape knelt, chanting.  
_"Ir Narciom ir Narciom, ir bernos ur Narci. Ir Narciom ir Narciom, ir bernos ur Narci."  
_The Houndoom looked back at the two standing there, terrified and mystified all at once.  
"I wish I could bring good news on such a glorious day in your lives, but I cannot. Dylan must go with his mother, but you two are to defend the shores with your life. You have 30 minutes. Please, make them count."  
The Houndoom solemnly walked up to the Infernape and nudged him. The Infernape stood and followed the Houndoom deeper into the church. Joe and Sirius approached Dylan. Sirius licked Dylan's head.  
"Child of Joseph, Dylan Robertson, I christen you Emmanuel. Dylan Emmanuel Robertson, may your days be long and prosperous."  
Sirius lifted the baby and brought him to a burning pit and placed him in. He lifted him out again almost immediately.  
"Baptised by fire, you are Dylan Emmanuel Robertson."  
Joseph placed a badge in front of Dylan. He looked at the Houndoom.  
"Make sure he wears my badge when he's ready." He looked at the cooing Torchic. "I love you." He licked the baby, then looked at Sirius and nodded. Joe and Sirius walked up to the Infernape.  
"We're ready."  
"Then, come."  
The two followed the Infernape out, and the Houndoom began to quietly cry.

_And can you blame him? Hardly the happy story you'd expect out of Pok_é_mon. But, I'm not exactly normal there._

_So, without further ado..._

_This is S. Giovanni, signing out._


	2. The Hardest Choice

The five-year-old Torchic was walking through the rocky fields when he heard crying from behind a nearby boulder. He looked around to find a Ninetales crying.  
"Mom? What's the matter?"  
The Ninetales turned to the young Torchic.  
"I'm sorry, Dylan, I'm just thinking."  
"About what?"  
"Don't worry about it."  
The Torchic cocked his head, but he decided it best not to ask further. He toddled away. The Ninetales sighed and laid down to sleep.

A burning badger, taller than she would have expected any creature to be, stood before her. Looking at it, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe.  
"You know there's not alot you can do now."  
"What?"  
"You know how much longer it will be."  
"How much longer what will be?"  
"You know what you must do."  
"I don't! What must I do?" Her sense of awe was transforming into frustration. "I can't do anything if I don't know what!"  
But the badger had vanished in a fiery explosion. She saw a violent swirl of colors, red, black, blue, orange, a terrible slurry of chaos. She saw herself running through a forest, her son on her back. It swirled away into her collapsing near a tree, then it swirled into her son staring down a dragon, then her sight was blocked by flames.

Mary woke with a start. Her fear was great. She couldn't close her eyes, so she picked up her sleeping son and rushed off. It wasn't long before she saw the volcano. It was deserted, thank Vulcan, the pack was off hunting. She rushed up to a dimly lit cave, where she found the ancient Houndoom staring at markings on the wall.  
"Father?"  
The Houndoom did not turn.  
"Hello, Miriam. I'm surprised you came back."  
"Outcast or not, I have to talk with you."  
"Of all existance you're the last one I'd figure to express rebellion to the Pack Order. But you chose the right Elder, of course, else I'd have attacked you by now."  
"Of course, but you're one of the few pack-members I trust, and certainly the only Elder."  
"Of this I am aware. You need my help for something, I assume?"  
"Yes. You have interpreted my dreams before."  
"You have had another that you would like to understand?"  
"Yes."  
"Then please, detail the dream to me."  
She explained it all. The Houndoom made no expression through her account.  
"This was no mere dream. This was a prophecy."  
Mary gasped.  
"You mean...?"  
"No. I don't mean that you saw what will happen. You saw what might happen. Like the moon, fate has two sides. There is a dark side, where all is bleak, and a light side, an encouraging side to be sure. Vulcan has detailed a terrible future to you, telling you that you must do something, something you know to do."  
"But I don't. That's the problem."  
"There is an ancient prophecy. Can you read the writing of Man?"  
"Yes, Joseph taught me. Why?"  
"The language of Man, or rather their text, is the writing of the prophets. The prophets wrote in an ancient language, but always has the text been Human. It takes fourteen days to read the entire wall, but you will only need several minutes to understand. Read it, if you please."  
Mary read.  
_"Rinirin vini nozo Ronyersalu ier Teparon, ere aize pezo. Morvaron vini eza Narsir Vulcan ega. Ano padai vini udar dagar Abat On ier madia vini rando e sumer. Nia vini ona ano anadan ano sovi. Ano vini darad ier irimor padai nuin vini. Vulcan vini vena rando dina Riendurin narci."_  
"I would assume you wish to know what that means?"  
"Somehow," she looked down, "I already do."  
"Then you know what you must do."  
"I do."  
"Then go. Do what you feel you must."  
Mary sighed. "I have no else I can do. I must send him to Iralen City."  
"Then go. Leave now."  
She lowered her head, picked up her sleeping son, placed him in a nearby basket, and, picking up the basket, ran.

Mary reached the building she was looking for, a stadium-sized building called the Iralen School for Orphans. She placed the basket at the door, slipped a note underneath her son, tied another to the basket, and looked at the door. She silently sobbed as she backed up, then, as fast as the twelve feet between herself and the school would allow, she rammed the door. She then leapt over the banister and into the bushes, and crouched. The door opened, and a Fearow's head craned out. Seeing nothing, it began to rise back into the doorway, when it noticed the basket. It pecked at the note tied to the basket and read it. It placed the note on top of Dylan and picked up the basket in his talons and flew inside, closing the door with a peck. Mary cried, running away as fast as she could.

_That's it for this chapter. Don't expect a translation of the wall-writing for a couple of stories._

_But in the mean-time, I'm bailing._

_This is S. Giovanni, signing out._


	3. The Rebellion

The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and eventually, Dylan carved out a niche for himself. He was popular among the students for his easy confidence and apparent calm, almost serene, attitude. In truth, though, he was making more powerful enemies than he was making friends. Without meaning to, his confidence had managed to make every teacher in the school hate him. This was best seen in the slave driver he went to first thing every day, Professor Baruti, who held a particular hatred for Dylan. Secretly, this feeling was mutual. Though Dylan would never let on, he despised Professor Baruti, who would, daily, find a reason to punish him, from asking stupid questions (which, in reality, were questions Baruti didn't have an answer for) to moving around too much (which was a bit hard for Dylan; he needed to move around in order to write.) This was taking its toll on Dylan, and he was growing sick of it.

Dylan, despite being so well liked, had only one actual friend. His room-mate, a Treecko by the name of Foster, was the only one who Dylan was actually friends with, entirely because Foster was just as well hated among the teachers as Dylan was (though equally hated among the student body.) The reason was simple, Foster was annoying. Dylan, however, didn't feel as strongly about it. Foster would quickly press at Dylan's nerves, it was true, but, as Dylan knew, Foster was trying to be friendly, not to pester anyone. And so, Dylan grew to trust Foster, and Foster certainly trusted Dylan.

Dylan woke up one morning in a cold sweat, having had a dream that night about an Arcanine. It wasn't particularly frightening, nothing about the dream was enough to inspire fear, and yet, the dream scared him. He'd had that same dream for a few weeks now, and it was starting to affect him. He wasn't sleeping well, he wasn't eating as much, and he'd often feel a bit distracted while doing things. He got up and opened his dresser and pulled out a drawing of the Arcanine he'd made. He looked at it, then put it to the side as he rummaged around, through the bandanas and towels, until he found what he was looking for. It was a pendant with no thread, a round object. A flat circle with a 10-sided star on it. His mother had told him once that his father had given it to him once, long ago. He didn't remember, but then, he didn't remember anything about his father. Regardless, it had sentimental value to him, and so he put it on the drawing and wrapped it up. He then placed it in his pack, along with three bandanas, his guitar, his pillow, and a basket. He was certain where the basket came from: His mother had left him in it. He sighed and zipped up the pack, and for the first time didn't wonder how it all managed to fit. He slung it over his shoulder and tied a bandana around the tuft of feathers on his head, ready to go to his first class, Baruti's Advanced Mathematics class. He climbed down several flights of stairs and walked towards the pool. He forced himself by, the chlorinated smell gagging him, and eventually, the first classroom past the pool, with that stretch of hall to the main door. He walked into class, where sat a few students already, two in the back napping, one in the front violently filling in answers, and hopped into his desk in the front corner next to the door, wanting to hurry up with the day. Thankfully, Baruti hadn't come in yet, probably still asleep. He pulled a binder out of his backpack and further a sheet of paper. That was one thing they'd never catch him for, being unprepared. So, his homework for the day after incomplete, he laid it down on the table with his binder on the floor and a pencil in claw. Foster came in next, apparently having just had a rough night from the state his leaf was in and the swollen look to his eyes. He nodded good morning to Dylan as he passed, heading for his seat in the back. After that came a Jigglypuff Dylan had seen around, taking his seat next to Foster. Eventually, students started coming in droves, finalized by a Kangaskhan, "Polythene Pam" Jackson, the only girl on the football team, sitting next to Dylan. After about ten minutes of waiting, passed by talking to Pam, a Craudaunt came in, silencing the room with so much as a claw in the room. He grabbed a paper and pencil and started checking off boxes on it. He put it down and looked at the class.  
"What are you looking at? Get to work."  
Dylan started scratching around with his foot, jotting down a couple of words. Baruti came up.  
"Stand still, laddie!"  
That did it. Dylan slammed his pencil into the desk and spat a ball of fire at him. He leapt out of his desk and ran, not caring what he was doing, not caring who saw, not caring about anything but the door at the end of the hall. Baruti was chasing him, charred but clearly livid, and through the door came a flock of students to watch. Dylan didn't care, even when Pam shouted "You can do it, Dylan!" Of course, this encited more teachers and their mobs to look. The teachers didn't join Baruti, but rather began trying to regain order in the school. Of course, that wasn't going to happen any time soon, especially after Dylan had done his job. The door was there, right before his eyes. Just a little longer...BAM! He rolled to the left, and Baruti, caught more unprepared than any student ever would be, slammed into the door, knocking it down. He groaned, sore, as Dylan hopped on his head and stared defiantly into his eyes.  
"Stand still, laddie," Dylan said, dripping contempt, and with a peck to the head, knocked Baruti unconcious. To a cheer from the students, he leapt off Baruti's head and ran off to the pier five miles away.

Of course, the students were just as rebellious as Dylan, but much better organized. The Jigglypuff and his three bouncers, two Spoinks and a Buneary, as well as a pair of Rhyhorns and a Geodude, managed to infiltrate the office and get ahold of the announcement system. The Jigglypuff spoke into the P.A.  
" i Attention students. It's time. That'll be all. /i "

Foster was confused and scared. He nimbly avoided a flying Nidoking as he scaled the stairs to his room, trying to hide or escape. When he got to his room, he found the Nidoking had torn down the door landing and was now lying unconcious on the floor. Foster grabbed his pillow and stuffed it with the remaining bandanas from the dresser, as well as his CD Player, a CD case, his Gameboy, and its three games. Certain he had everything, he ran downstairs, ducking attacks occasionally, trying to get to the door, when a Rhyperior blocked his way.  
"Where do you think b you're /b going, Foster?"  
"I-I just w-wanted to g-get out of here, M-Mr. M-M-Mustard."  
"Hm. You're doing no such thing, you little bastard. You're staying here. You owe me money."  
"I-I do?"  
"Yes. Stop giving me this crap," he threw a rolled up comics section at Foster, "And give me my freaking money."  
"H-how much, s-sir?"  
"I don't need to tell you. You ought to remember."  
"S-sorry, sir, I d-don't."  
" b Quit stuttering you fool! /b "  
"Sirry, sor, I mean, sorry sir!"  
"For that matter, you useless git, just shut up."  
"Sorry--."  
" b What did I say? /b "  
"You sa--."  
" b Hey! Stop talking! /b "  
The bathroom door was rumbling. Mr. Mustard looked through its window. b CRASH! BAM! /b Pam came clear through the bathroom window, slamming Mr. Mustard over the railing into a fall down ten stories. She looked at Foster.  
"You getting out of here?"  
"Y-yes, P-Pam."  
"Alright, I'll help you out." She slung Foster over her shoulder, his pillow dangling, and leapt over the edge.

When Foster came to, Pam had already landed, knocking a Fearow out of the sky and smashing a table. She was unconcious. He looked around. The school was quiet again, but not in the same way as it had been. It was surprisingly peaceful, for once. He looked around. The only four in that tiny stretch of hall were him, Pam, the Fearow, and a Mr. Mustard. He was surprised he'd survived the fall, Pam looked dead, and he was certain Mustard and the Fearow were. He started shoving at Pam to wake her up, but she wouldn't. He fell down on her and started to cry.  
"Stop crying you baboon."  
"What the--?"  
Pam stood up. Foster never realized how strong she was until he saw the bone sticking out of her leg.  
"I said stop crying. I'm alive."  
"Thanks for helping me."  
"Not a problem. You'd better find Dylan, he could use the company."  
Foster nodded and grabbed his pillow to hear a tinkling. He opened his pillow and looked in. All his CDs, his CD player, and his Gameboy had broken. He dumped it out, grabbing the games and bandanas and sticking them back in the pillow. He turned to Pam.  
"Thanks again."  
And he ran off.


End file.
